


January

by cynicalwerewolf



Category: The Dresden Files (TV), The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Vignette Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 10,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicalwerewolf/pseuds/cynicalwerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vignette collection based on the daily stones of January.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gates Open

_I wish I could die_ , Hrothbert of Bainbridge thought as he waited passively in his skull. This New Year’s Day was not a joyous occasion. Harry was dead, and Hrothbert had no desire to continue to exist. Even oblivion would be a mercy.

At least Harry’s manner of death had been of his choosing and…and honorable. Hrothbert had always known that Harry wouldn’t die of old age and had considered the boy fortunate that he made his first century. Every year after that had been life on borrowed time.

And yet foolish hope had wormed its way into his heart. Hope that he would have a few more precious centuries with Harry as friend and master. Now that hope was dashed as surely as every other hope had been extinguished in his existence.

“Bob?”

Hrothbert started. He must be going mad, certainly not an unanticipated development. He could swear…

A second voice, female, and while more distant in his memory just as unbelievable, spoke “Hrothbert? Would you please leave that ghastly prison?”

Fully anticipating being unable to leave his skull, yet unable to prevent himself from listening to the siren song of those beloved voices and giving in to treacherous, lunatic hope, Hrothbert did. He knew he wouldn’t see what he wanted to above all other things, but he couldn’t stop himself.

The first sight that met his eyes was that which he knew was impossible. Winifred, gowned in white and silver, light brown hair unbound, and hazel eyes glowing with passion. He had barely formed his presence outside the confines of his skull when she flung herself into his arms. Even though it had been centuries since he had held her in his arms and his intellect knew she would pass through him, he caught her and held her tight.

Beyond Winifred was Harry, but Harry as Hrothbert had never known him. All bitterness and rage was gone, leaving only the pure core of heart that Harry had always possessed. The loss had not diminished him, but instead seemed to have increased his very being.

Winifred released him, but Harry immediately took her place. It was fortunate that he no longer required breath, for between the grips of the two people he loved the most, air would have been in short supply. As short a supply as his rationality was.

Harry pulled back, and Hrothbert could see the tears in both his and Winifred’s eyes. And that was when the realization hit him. They would leave, and he would never see them-

Before he could travel further down that path, Winifred slapped him. Not hard, no more than a mild tap, but it was certainly a shock. “Do not head down that path, Hrothbert Tancred Ricohard of Bainbridge. We will not leave you.”

“And we won’t be staying here, either,” Harry put in, before Hrothbert’s mind could move towards the other negative direction. He held out a hand, giving Winifred a fond look before saying, “I have it on good authority that nothing designed by mortals is eternal. Even curses. Come.”

That single, joyful invitation was almost irresistible, but Hrothbert managed to ask, “Why wasn’t this done before?”

“Because, my husband, you were not ready before. You were too certain of your rightness, your anger, your desperation, your despair. You were not prepared to accept this choice, even from me, until this time,” Winifred said. She held out her own hand, and repeated the request, “Come.”

Looking from brown eyes to hazel ones, taking in the peace and radiance of the two souls before him, Hrothbert closed his eyes and stepped forward, taking both their hands. The radiance flowed into and around him, and through the sensation of a tremendous weight being lifted he felt the magical shackles about his wrists splinter and fall.


	2. Slamming the Door Shut

_Of all the times for a necromancer_ …Harry mentally snarled as he forced himself not to retreat. He really did have to get his wards stronger, if a two-bit pissant like this could get through them. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. Hell's bells, he didn’t even know whether they were male or female.

Turning his thoughts back to the wards, he wondered why they were so weak. _Not like there haven’t been strains on the wards lately_. Okay, so the wards had been down when Mai and company blasted in, but it wasn’t as if either he or Bob had expected the apartment to make a side trip to the Darkness when they had created the wards in the first place.

Harry wasn’t quite suicidal enough to go yell at Mai, especially with her ‘species indefinite status’, as Bob would say. But Morgan was going to get a piece of his mind the next time the warden bothered to show up.

Assuming he survived this battle first…

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of Bob near his desk. Not wanting the necromancer to begin paying attention to the skull bound ghost, Harry redoubled his attacks. They seemed to have no effect. He saw a flash of orange. Strengthening his shield, he risked a direct look.

He could feel the impact of the necromancer’s attacks on his shield, not just through his magic but physically, too. Forcing himself to ignore that, at least for now, he concentrated on looking for what Bob had been trying to communicate.

Bob had surrounded a crystal with orange light. Harry didn’t quite understand _why_ , but the only reason he’d survived this long was Bob’s help. He dove across the room, somersaulting part of the way as though he were in a kung-fu movie.

He caught the crystal, turning just in time for another necromantic blast to hit his shield and penetrate it. As he raised his hands (to do what, he had no idea) the crystal moved into the spell’s path.

And began to glow. Tentatively looking at the crystal with his Sight, Harry saw that the crystal wasn’t just absorbing the magic, but purifying it. He instantly began tapping into the now pure energy, shutting down his Sight at the same time. The feeling was indescribable, both attractive and repulsive. Harry forced himself to keep channeling as fast as the crystal purified.

It took much longer for the necromancer to figure it out than it had taken Harry. Harry rolled his eyes. The flaming idiot finally broke off its attack, but by the time it did so, its shields were weak and Harry was so filled with energy he felt like he was going to burst. So he did the only thing he could to relieve the pressure.

He let go of the energy in one glorious, painful blast that had a similar effect on the necromancer’s shields that the earlier one had on Harry’s. It didn’t so much penetrate the shields as ignore them, flinging the necromancer over a chair, through the broken window set into the door, and out into the street in the finest cinematic style.

“A bit over the top, but I’m certain you found it quite satisfying,” Bob said as he materialized next to Harry.

“Yes, it was,” Harry admitted, before asking, “So, Bob, the crystal?”

“If you had paid any attention during my lessons on the properties of crystals and other stones, you would already know the answer,” Bob scolded fondly as Harry looked about the shop for something to tie the necromancer up.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a horrible student. The crystal, Bob?”

With a dramatic sigh, Bob said, “The crystal is pure selenite, which not only cannot be corrupted, actively purifies corrupt energies. Really, Harry, one would think you had learned nothing from my teachings.”

Harry smiled and said, “The most important things I learned from you had nothing to do with magic. Why do you think I work so hard at protecting you?”


	3. Letting Go

On a cold night in early January, several months after his uncle’s unwanted resurrection and second death, Harry sat in his office and stared out the window. The moonlight filled the office, serene and non-judgmental. Harry wanted complete darkness, but was too wrapped up in his thoughts to bother leaving the front room for the back area where his apartment was or to close the blinds.

These nights had never been quiet in any of the places he’d lived as a child. While Malcolm Dresden was alive, the days around New Years and during Christmas had been filled with watching his father perform. At- Morningway’s- he might have been shuffled off to lessons, but he’d always heard the gatherings of the rich and powerful. Morningway had preferred to allow Harry to overhear the conversations rather than banish him to a more distant room of the mansion. A lesson in focus, he had said.

Neither had been restful, although it hurt to acknowledge that the times at Uncle Justin’s had been more interesting. Not the overheard conversations, the wrangling of tomcats was suspiciously similar, but Bob’s company had been good even if the lessons weren’t always to Harry’s taste. Harry could count on one hand the number of Christmas nights he’d spent _with_ his dad, rather than watching his dad perform. That included the entire Christmas season, not just Christmas Eve and Day.

Harry turned his head away from the window. Even though the moonlight was an improvement on the intermittent street light it wasn’t what he wanted. It felt too clean, even in the darkness. Far too understanding for the mood Harry was in.

“Damn you,” he whispered. “Damn you Justin Morningway.” He remembered his uncle’s final words, explaining why he had betrayed Harry, killed Malcolm Dresden, was killing Harry himself. Words demonstrating once and for all that Justin considered his plans absolutely important; vastly more important than the lives destroyed by his ambitions.

There was the sound of scratching on the door. Harry sighed and after standing, went to let Mister in. The cat briefly rubbed his head against Harry’s leg before sauntering into the apartment, tail high.

Rather than follow Mister back into the office, Harry closed the door and leaned back against it. While the weather was too cold to stay out for long, the combination of cold air and unfiltered moonlight appeared to be clearing his thoughts. While he was stood there, he realized something.

By holding on to his anger and hatred, Justin was winning. Justin Morningway didn’t have family or friends, he had slaves and tools. Harry had been manipulated by his uncle all his life. While he freely acknowledged that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the drawer, even he could see all the manipulation Justin had performed. Not magical manipulation, at least as far as he knew, but emotional and mental, making the elimination of the effects much more difficult.

Breathing in the cold, oddly clean, winter’s air, Harry performed a meditation technique he had learned from Ebenezer McCoy. As he breathed out, he felt himself releasing accumulated hatred and selfish anger. He wasn’t going to let go of all his anger, it was his primary tool. But anger for what he alone had suffered was poisonous.

He didn’t know how long he stood that way, but after he returned to himself, Harry felt cleaner than he had in years. And closer to frostbite than even the November he’d nearly been drowned by a nixie in Lake Michigan four years ago.

Knowing Bob would never let him hear the end of it if got frostbite from standing outside without a coat or even a pair of shoes, when he’d managed to escape it from the nixie incident, he reentered the shop.


	4. Awakening

It didn’t remember its first waking. Genii loci that awakened on their own had a very rudimentary intelligence when the process began, no sentiency whatsoever. However, it remembered its achievement of sentience even decades afterwards.

“Mister Dresden, you-you’ve done so much for me,” Feather’s voice was higher than either Guardian or Shadow’s. At that point, it hadn’t known how to attach human names to the individuals they belonged to, or even recognized gender; it just knew who they _WERE_.

“Don’t mention it,” Guardian felt…vaguely awed and slightly embarrassed.

“I know I can’t pay much, but…here,” Feather’s hand pushed into some type of soft container. A sack perhaps? It came out again with some pieces of a material that weren’t quite like what the books were made from. 

Guardian shook its head, “I can’t accept…”

It was Feather’s turn to shake its head, “I insist.”

Awkwardly, Guardian took the paper. Feather had a pleased look as it left my bounds.

Shadow came out of its container, saying as it did so, “Do you make rent this month, Harry? Or are you still paying back rent for last month? Honestly, your chivalrous tendencies get you into more trouble…”

“Easy, Bob. Last month’s rent got paid on time. Half of this goes toward this month’s rent, and the other half goes for groceries.”

“And the wench?” Shadow sounded almost hopeful as it asked.

“Happily married,” Guardian answered. 

“Pity.”

Shadow had the oddest expression as it answered, tone the same as Guardian’s, “Yes, that is quite an improvement. Even if you did try to turn it down.”

They continued on that path, but I remember settling into my place warmed by their affection and determined to protect them with my very being.

Why should I not? It was they who gave me life.


	5. Patching Up

“Dresden! Dresden! Harry!” Connie wasn’t certain why Dresden was taking so long to answer his door, but there had been reports of purple fireballs in the park by his apartment, a situation with his name written all over it. Even though she knew she wouldn’t believe the explanation, Connie felt obligated to at least make certain he was all right.

If she thought she’d be able to get through his door, she would have broken it down by the time Harry finally opened it. He must have the sturdiest doors in Chicago, at least from the outside. His luck didn’t seem to extend to things leaving the apartment by…nonstandard means.

“It’s about-“ Connie cut off her angry statement when she saw the state Harry was in. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “Hospitals and I don’t mix when I’m healthy, much less when I’m injured.”

Taking in the patchwork of burns, cuts, and bruises on Harry’s exposed torso, most looking raw and none of them bandaged, Connie couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said, patiently. “If you’re that worried, you could help me with my back, but a hospital wouldn’t be able to help with most of this, anyway.”

“Okay,” Connie hoped she didn’t sound as dubious as she thought she did. As Harry stepped back to allow her entrance, she couldn’t help but ask, “So what did that to you, anyway?” She made a helpless gesture with her hands that was wasted because he couldn’t see it.

“A djinni,” he didn’t sound like he expected her to believe this, but had to say it anyway.

“A genie?” Connie had been expecting something unbelievable, and had gotten it. But she knew that her vocal disbelief hurt Harry, although she hadn’t fully understood how badly it did so until an- incident about six months ago. So instead of voicing her doubts, she asked, “Isn’t this the wrong place for genies? I’d think they’d prefer deserts, like the Middle East.”

Harry looked surprised, but explained, “A djinni is…a type of guardian fae, like a banshee. And they do have their origins in Arabia, but if the family they’re tied to moves they travel with it. Usually they’re fairly benign but there are bad ones, just like any other type of being. And when their renegades find kindred spirits in their family, things get messy.”

She understood very little of the explanation, although she had the sneaking suspicion that it should have made sense, given what Harry had told her previously. But instead of asking for clarification, she instead said, “What do you need put on your back?”

“This,” he said, gesturing towards a bowl that was half-filled with a nasty orangey-red substance. At her dubious look, he explained further, “The burns a djinni causes don’t heal properly unless a specific ointment is put on them. The problem is, the ointment can be harmful if it isn’t applied to djinni burns.”

“What does it do,” Connie asked, even as she gestured for Harry to be seated on the couch.

“It’s a bit abrasive,” he answered. “No more than coarse sandpaper, but it’s unpleasant enough that I’m glad you offered to help.”

She didn’t want to think about what he would have done on his own. Probably poured the rest of this…whatever…down his back, and lived with the result. 

Picking up the old washcloth that was next to the stuff, she dipped it in the bowl and began to carefully dab it on the burn across his right shoulder blade. As she did so, she asked, making certain he could hear that she wasn’t serious, “So the purple fire was you fighting a djinni? Why can’t you do anything without me getting involved?”

“Just lucky I guess,” he said. It sounded like he was smiling.


	6. News

Malcolm looked up when Margaret, his beautiful Maggie, entered the room. She had been a bit moody lately but now she looked absolutely serene. He began to stand, but settled again when Maggie said, “No, don’t.”

She sat down beside him on the couch, stretching out her long legs as she rested her back on his lap and her head on the arm. Looking into her face, Malcolm realized she was both elated and relieved, but there was also a faintly shadowed look in her eyes that confused him. Reaching up to brush an errant lock of hair out of her eyes, he asked, “What’s the news?”

“Malcolm, I know we’ve spoken about children, and as it turns out, it is a good thing we did,” she smiled at him, the joy in her eyes eclipsing the shadow.

It took a second for Malcolm to realize what his wife was implying, “You’re pregnant?” He felt utterly pole-axed. From the smile on Maggie’s face, he probably _looked_ utterly pole-axed. He felt himself smile, and said, “That’s wonderful.” He pulled her to his chest.

Eyes becoming more shadowed, she said, “I’m glad you think so.”

Malcolm felt the smile slipping from his face, “Your brother?”

“Is a prejudiced fool,” she sighed. “But he’s a prejudiced fool with a great deal of influence. Regardless, I’ve found a way around him. You don’t need to worry about him for now.”

He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Will I have to worry about him at some point?”

Maggie considered the question, before answering, “Eventually, but not soon. My allies will keep him busy for a while. Long enough to give us some breathing room.”

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “That’s good.” Deliberately putting Justin Morningway out of his thoughts, he asked, “So, what else have you been up to?”

She began to tell him about her day, but even when she told him about the allies she had marshaled against her brother, he suspected that she was holding something back. None of the people who she mentioned would have brought the bittersweet expression to her eyes that had been there when he’d first seen her face this afternoon.

But even now, he couldn’t destroy the happy mood she was in. The secrets she had might not be hers to tell.

He loved her and the child she carried. That was all that mattered for now.


	7. Forever In-between

Hrothbert wasn’t certain when he began to feel anything more than frustrated anticipation towards Harry. A ‘life’ of centuries meant that time tended to blend together. However, he was certain when he realized that he loved the boy.

It was when Justin Morningway informed him that Harry would be travelling, beginning after he was eighteen, therefore any lessons Hrothbert had planned needed to be retailored, or even abandoned completely in favor of teaching Harry some basic ‘international survival skills’, as Harry himself put it.

It didn’t sound unreasonable. In fact, it sounded very kind, and far better than the plans Morningway held for Harry up to now, until one realized that Morningway wasn’t doing this for Harry. Rather, he was doing it because he felt it would reflect badly on Justin himself if Harry did something improper.

The worst part of the matter was his pandering to Harry, an affectionate front masking deadly calculations. And Hrothbert could tell Harry nothing, could not warn the boy in any way. His _master_ had ordered him not to.

So Hrothbert watched, waited, taught, and attempted to give the boy genuine love. Yet he was ever caught between life and death, past and present, duty and desire…and deadly secrets.


	8. Focusing

After he (murdered his uncle, a dark voice whispered in his mind) inherited his uncle’s estate, Harry was struck by how hollow Justin Morningway’s life had been.

And how nasty. He never wanted to see this many dark, evil tools of magic in one place again. The Council missing Morningway’s activities was quite worrisome.

That Morningway had been a Warden explained some of the blindness, but not all of it. A reluctance to accuse a Warden of forbidden activities was somewhat reasonable, but he should have been checked thoroughly before he ever achieved that rank. The Morningways had a very bad reputation in magical circles. A Morningway candidate for Wardenship should have been heavily scrutinized, both before and after he achieved the rank.

But Justin hadn’t been, and Harry had been designated as scapegoat for both Justin’s death and all his activities before hand.

He had finally come to the study, the one place in the house he had loved, as well as hated. The mixed feelings were all tied into the one person who Harry had _thought_ cared for him. Now he dreaded walking into the room where his mentor lived.

For given definition of living, of course.

And putting it off wasn’t getting him answers. With a sigh, Harry opened the study door, entering and shutting the door quickly behind him.

The study was dark. Harry’s hand rested on the light switch briefly before he decided that some things were said, and heard, more easily in the dark ( _dark for dark purposes_ that snide voice quoted a book he hated).

“All right, Bob,” he said quietly, “You promised me a talk. You have my full attention. I’m willing to listen.”


	9. Mother's Arms

She was almost finished with her self-appointed task. And just in time. The visions had been coming far more frequently of late.

Visions she hoped to thwart.

Maggie wished she could warn Malcolm about what was to happen. But he would try to interfere, and she knew that if he did so, both he and Harry would die. And she would rather die herself than let Harry precede her.

And she would. Knowing her brother (well, technically her half-brother, although she wasn’t certain he knew their lesser connection. Not that it would matter, in the end), her taking Harry’s doom on herself would bring about her own.

The only thing she wished she could do was tell the High Council. But she couldn’t. Ebenezer McCoy had warned her when her ability to see the future had come to light what the High Council would have in store if her abilities came to their direct attention.

Death. Even though she couldn’t prevent the visions and omens from coming, they would execute her for breaking the Laws of Magic.

She couldn’t allow that. Not now. Not ever.

“Mom?” Harry’s voice broke through her reverie.

Maggie looked up, “Yes, Harry?” Her son was in his pajamas, and was gazing expectantly at her.

“Tuck me in?”

Bedtime rituals such as being tucked in hadn’t been a part of the Morningway household. Maggie stood, and said, “Of course.”

Behind her, the shields on the bracelet caught the light, both the physical gleam of the candles and the glow of Maggie’s love.


	10. Power

“Come out, ghost,” it only took a moment for the spirit of Hrothbert of Bainbridge to reform in the physical realm, but it was long enough to contemplate his entire life. The High Council had left him that period of reflection.

It wasn’t a kindness.

He remembered being a young wizard, consumed with curiosity and a drive to explore magic. Often, this desire led him down dark paths.

He remembered the brightness that had been his Winifred. She had always been beautiful to him, even though even by the standards of the day she was merely tolerably pretty to any objective audience. But he had never been objective about her. She shifted his focus from magic to her.

He remembered her death. The spiral into necromancy and darker magics than he had ever attempted even before. Removing thoughts of disagreeing with his methods, or worse, leaving him before they came to her conscious awareness. 

He remembered her telling him she loved him before the Wardens killed her the final time. The worst part was that he couldn’t trust her words, for he had altered her thoughts so many times. 

He remembered his trial and sentencing. The bizarre satisfaction he had found in the sentence, for the Council very nearly broke the same Laws of Magic that Hrothbert himself had. The satisfaction that had quickly turned to pain and rekindled anger as the sentence was carried out with efficient brutality.

He remembered the years of slavery, the breaking down of his will, his acceptance of his servitude and his role as the boogeyman of the White Council.

As he finally formed, he saw Justin Morningway, as usual. However, he also saw a boy at Morningway’s side. Margaret’s startled eyes looked out from the young face, and he knew that the next few decades would be a challenge such as he had never had.

And even knowing that Margaret’s boy would probably turn out to be a disappointment, he found himself anticipating their coming acquaintance.


	11. Dark of the Moon

It had always taken a long time for Justin to enchant moonstones, but the results were well worth the effort. All the effort he had put into making this amulet for Harry would bear good fruit.

The amulet would foster Harry’s affection towards his uncle, necessarily at the cost of his other affections. Justin had found the human heart had only so much positive regard to go around.

Once Harry was back from his journey, the ground would be properly prepared for him to become Justin’s right hand and a Warden of the Council.

And would no longer have an unseemly and useless attachment to the shade of a dead necromancer. He cast a dark look at the Skull. The artifact was certainly useful, not the least as an example of where useless emotions such as _love_ led. His sister and her mundane husband’s fates were another, but one that Harry could not fully appreciate until Justin had his entire affection.

This amulet would help. First, it would soothe Harry’s dreams, softening the remembrance by removing thoughts of Malcolm Dresden. It wouldn’t do for Harry to recall the pain of his paternal parent’s death.

Particularly not when Justin had caused it himself. 

Second, it would bring to mind all that Justin had done for him: the nurturing of his potential, the better placement in life, even the journey to see the world, which Dresden certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford. All the opportunities that Harry had received as a result of Justin’s actions, which had been intended to give him this life.

And finally, it would connect the emotions that would be lingering as a result of Dresden’s emotional erasure to Justin himself, ensuring that the affections which appeared to be heading towards the ghost would at last be brought to where they belonged.

“And so I win, ghost,” Justin whispered to the skull.


	12. Business Associates

It took a while for Amber to notice that she had to keep re-enchanting her protection pendant whenever she was with Ancient Mai and other members of her faction for a prolonged period of time. However, once she noticed, it became very hard to ignore.

As a very junior Warden, Amber had never expected to be in the presence of the most senior member of the High Council much. But after the incident with the dracoform, Ancient Mai had seemingly decided the junior Warden was competent and trustworthy. Or she was giving Amber enough rope.

Knowing what happened to people who crossed Ancient Mai, Amber preferred to believe the former. 

However, after she noticed the draining process, she needed to find out what was causing it. It wasn’t just her natural tendency towards experimentation which drove her to do so, but her practical streak coming through. She couldn’t have her protection failing at inopportune moments.

Such as when a High Council member took an unexpected detour into the darkest reaches of the Nevernever. Even if she had earned her sword, walking in the Nevernever without some form of magical defense was like walking naked in Central Park after midnight.

The first step she took was to ask her fellow Wardens if they experienced anything similar.

Unfortunately, the Wardens who spent the most time with the High Council were usually over two centuries and both powerful enough and confident enough in their magic and reactions that they no longer used minor foci. The only Warden who said anything was Morgan, and he only asked her when she noticed the draining process. He vanished the moment she mentioned their trip to the Darkness in Wizard Dresden’s apartment.

Shortly after that, there was an influx of vicious unaligned fae from the Nevernever and she barely had enough time to eat and sleep, never mind worry about anything more than survival beyond the next five minutes.

“Have you considered that the pendant may be trying to protect her?” Amber jumped as she heard Wizard Dresden’s voice.

Trying to subtly look behind yourself is quite difficult, but Amber managed it. Wizard Dresden and Morgan were facing off, and Dresden was sparking. The sparks flew from his eyes, his hands, his…hockey stick, red and blue and orange and white. He looked dangerously deranged.

Morgan looked like a pillar of obsidian, a statue carved of ice. His aura was stark, frozen steel; sharp and brittle. Amber’s fellow Warden growled, “I have. Why else would I be speaking to you?”

“I did _nothing_ to her magic or magical implements. If you don’t trust me to tell the truth, I will swear it on my Name and my Power.”

This seemed to genuinely shock Morgan. With a grim expression, he turned and teleported across the battlefield with a swirl of his cloak. Dresden seemed to diminish, his facial expression settling into well-worn lines of weariness.

His tiredness didn’t stop him from frying a fae sneaking up on Amber as the lull in hostilities ended, though.


	13. Time

“Happy century, Harry,” Bob said with a genuine smile.

Harry smiled back. Despite the potential for mayhem later, today appeared to have no pending apocalypse. “Happy century, Bob.”

Of course, the apocalypse was probably waiting for Harry’s birthday. He’d had to leave the United States after his birth centennial had involved five apocalypses coming to a head in four different locations. California might be a nice place to visit…in about three hundred years.

He still felt guilty about that.

Bob insisted that the San Andreas Fault was bound to have shifted dramatically on its own at some point, and that Harry had a responsibility to the rest of the world that was greater than his responsibility to the place he’d been living in.

It might even help someday, but not now.

They were currently living in Japan, but Harry knew that between the high technological levels and the equally large number of fault lines on and around the islands, they would need to move soon. The Kijutsu Shō were becoming too interested in Bob, anyway.

It was hard to believe that Harry had known Bob for a century. Not that their relationship had been smooth. Far from it. Yet there were many times when Harry was happy with his companion. Bob had been the one constant in his life, and would continue to be so.

He thought Bob was happy, too. He hoped so. A thousand years is a long time to be miserable, and Harry suspected that certain times in that thousand had been more than mere misery. 

Glancing up at Bob, Harry caught a sappy look on the ghost’s face. Quickly looking down again so as to not destroy the mood, he smiled himself.

Life was very good.


	14. Introductory Lessons

“If you _would_ concentrate, Master Dresden…” The old ghost’s voice intruded into Harry’s thoughts. Harry jumped, more at the sound than at the name or irritation. He would never get used to being ‘Master’ Dresden, and irrationally grateful that- Uncle Justin- hadn’t insisted on Harry taking his name.

It was the only thing he had left of his father.

“Master Dresden,” The ghost appeared more resigned than irritated as he repeated the name and title. It was then that Harry had a flash of intuition.

“Did you know my mother?” he asked the ghost, trying to hide his eagerness.

The ghost seemed disconcerted. After a short pause, he answered, “Not well. But, yes, we were acquainted.”

“I can barely remember her,” Harry found himself whispering. “She died when I was three.”

The ghost paused before saying, “I know. Perhaps we could share reminiscences at some other time? Unless you would care to explain to your uncle why your lessons are unfinished?”

Harry blinked. The ghost had probably meant to sound stern, but instead sounded worried, and not just for himself. With that in mind, Harry cautiously answered, “Okay…Bob, it’s a deal”


	15. A Little Lost

“What the hell?” Kirmani closed his eyes briefly, hoping that when he opened them the six-armed…whatever….would turn out to be a hallucination.

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Dresden was behind him and promptly slapped him on the back of the head.

Kirmani’s eyes flew open. Nope, the…six-armed…snake-woman-thing…was still there. “Even though I don’t think she’s hostile, you should know better than to take your eyes off a potential complication.”

Kirmani slanted a glare at Dresden. The fact that the ‘wizard’ was absolutely right didn’t endear him to the cop.

Before they could get into an argument, the snake-woman gave a brief hiss, flicking her tongue in and out while sniffing the air in their direction. Her eyes flew open and she frowned as she said, “Wizard. Eclipsed wizard.”

Dresden muttered something that, by tone, was a curse word, but quickly raised his voice, “Naga.”

While _that_ didn’t sound like swearing, Kirmani wasn’t certain whether it was the name of the creature or the type of creature she was. The word was ringing a bell, though.

“Yes,” the snake-woman paused, before saying, “You may address me as Riya.”

So she was _a naga_ , not _named_ Naga. But Dresden’s voice interrupted Kirmani’s thoughts again, “Why are you here? Your kindred rarely visit this place, Singer.”

“I would not be here if I had a choice, Eclipsed One. But my daughter was taken from me and brought to this land of water, wind, and frost. I must rescue her,” the naga, Riya, explained. 

Well, if there were more naga neither Murphy nor Kirmani had heard about them, and that was the sort of thing Special Affairs was given. In fact, Riya was the first supernatural being to be seen in Chicago recently. The past month had been comparatively slow. 

But all that didn’t solve the problem of this naga. 

Thinking for a moment, Kirmani said, “Well…ma’am…I don’t know about my partner or Dresden, but I haven’t heard of anything that might be your daughter.” It was easier to speak to the naga -Riya- like he would any worried parent if he didn’t look beyond her human face. 

“I’ll have to ask a few people,” Dresden said. He pulled out his business card, “Here’s my address.” His tone clearly communicated _and please try to get there subtly if you have to go there._

Riya took the card carefully and said, “I will find a safe place to stay.” She began to fade away. 

After she did, Harry turned to Kirmani and asked, “Could you please find a way for me to expense about…ten pizzas with everything on them?” 


	16. Spectacular

Connie always turned off her computer when she called Harry to the squad room. When Kirmani was assigned as her partner she warned him to do the same.

“I don’t know what does it, but if you have your computer on around Dresden, you’ll regret it. The first time he was ever in the office, my computer melted.”

“It…what?” Kirmani was staring at her like she was as crazy as the rest of the squad thought she was.

“Melted. I think the forensics geeks are still trying to figure out what happened. The second computer just flicked off and refused to turn back on after a visit. The third one caught on fire. After that, I gave up.”


	17. Deadly Weapon

Morgan knew that people thought he hated Harry Dresden. Even Dresden thought that was the truth, but his emotions were far more complex than mere hatred.

Yes, there was a bit of hatred, (Dresden was Justin Morningway’s nephew after all, and the Morningways had a tendency towards dark magics), in addition to a great deal of disappointment, but primary among Donald Morgan’s mixed emotions was fear.

Fear not just _of_ Dresden but _for_ Dresden. 

He had interrogated the ghost, which had spoken of magical manipulation. Manipulation that was intended to turn Dresden into a tool of Morningway’s.

Both Morgan and the ghost had suspected Dresden’s use of dark magic to kill his uncle was a symptom of that manipulation, rather than any innate leaning towards the Dark. But a sword needs no evil intentions to kill, and Dresden had been fashioned into as much of a weapon as any sword.

So Morgan watched, giving Dresden a harmless outlet for his darker emotions as well as a warning of what was to happen if he were to give in.

And waited for him to eventually fall with only a sense of sad resignation.


	18. Third Eye

Jerry told us that Third Eye was harmless, best trip he ever had. He brought it as a party favor. Swore on his mother’s grave and the Bible that it was completely harmless, would just give us a mild buzz.

 _Damn_ was he a liar. 

All I could see about me was ugliness. There were nasty clouds of browny-green sludge everywhere, mixing with vicious (or maybe viscous?) pink and bile yellow fog.

I could _almost_ hear the rest of my friends experiencing similar distress. I might not have been able to hear them well, but I could see their distress in the colors surrounding me. I could taste it. I vomited.

Through the violent (violet?) haze I could hear Jerry’s strangely doubled voice. I _thought_ he was saying something about the appropriate price, but the echo chamber effect and loud colors were blocking out comprehension. 

An almost whining hum (humming whine?) answered Jerry, but at the moment I was having a hard enough time distinguishing up from down, much less finding him and beating answers out of the fucker.

Then the burning man with the hockey stick and fiery gaze burst through the door and blasted whatever Jerry was speaking with across the room.

He didn’t throw Jerry across the room, but he did knock him about the head a few times, an action I found vicariously satisfying. I think I heard something about someone eating his head. I wouldn’t know as the colors overwhelmed me about then.

When I woke up, I was in a private hospital far away from the city and my friends, and no one would give me any answers about Jerry.


	19. Not My Truth to Tell

Kirmani and Harry’s relationship had improved immeasurably through the years, but there were still times…She focused on the idiotic paperwork and not the arguing of idiotic men.

Well, Kirmani was arguing, Dresden was just tired. The wizard was only slightly less volatile than when Connie had first met him, but like all good cops he hated cases with children. Technically, Dresden wasn’t a cop, but he had the right instincts.

The case had been a difficult one. Three kids missing, and they’d found two of them dead.

The perp had been the mother of the first child.

The woman was in the morgue. The third kid, driven beyond endurance, had gotten loose and grabbed the nearest weapon to hand, an antique chair.

“All I’m asking is- “ Kirmani’s voice had gotten louder. Connie looked up to see that Dresden was starting to look less tired than irritated. 

Fortunately, Dresden had learned to control his temper through the years (although Connie could hear computers frying on the other side of the bullpen). Turning towards the door, he said, “I’m going home. I’ll send the paperwork you need from me tomorrow.”

“Don’t rush it,” Connie told him. She knew that Harry, in addition to his instincts, had a very good reason to hate cases with children.

After Harry had left the station, Kirmani came over and asked, “Do you know why he’s always that way after one of these cases?”

With a glare at Kirmani’s insensitivity, Connie growled, “ _That_ is none of your business.”


	20. Duty

“I’m never going into the sewers again,” Harry declared. “I don’t care if my job depends on it.”

“And what prompted your excursion into the, ah, bowels of the city infrastructure?” Bob asked, leaving his skull to enquire after Harry’s health.

“Dead body, what else,” Harry growled. “I brought you some slime to analyze.”

“My life is complete. Such as it is,” the ghost answered.

As Harry entered the lab, Bob was hard put not to laugh. He had no idea what Harry had encountered on the way back (he knew the young wizard must have encountered something), but whatever it was had thoroughly covered him with bright purple slime.

With sparkles.

Harry glared at Bob, daring him to make a comment. Swallowing his laughter, Bob asked, “So was there…more slime on the body?”

“Yes,” Harry irritably pulled a Tupperware container out of his coat pocket. “And even though I’ve dripped enough around the apartment, here’s a sample from the thing that got me.” A second Tupperware container joined the first. “Have fun. I’m taking a shower.”

Bob waited until Harry left to burst into laughter. After all, this topic would still be ripe for teasing after Harry was clean. It _was_ his duty to make certain Harry didn’t take himself too seriously.


	21. Too Much Talk

Ebenezer McCoy, Eb to the few friends he had, had no patience for smooth-talk with no substance. That and the fact that he didn’t play around with politics had made him rivals of a number of people having and aspiring to positions of power on and around the High Council.

Fundamentally, though, he didn’t care. He’d much rather deal with the people who hated or feared what he represented honestly than those who pretended to like him. He didn’t need empathy to know the liars.

But it didn’t help. Lord knew it didn’t help.

The previous Blackstaff had a real strange sense of humor, making his successor an empath. Ebenezer McCoy wasn’t the stereotypical gentle, ‘I feel your pain’, touchy-feely empathy, though. In the world Eb knew, in any plane of existence he could think of, such a person would be eaten alive by the pain of others.

And Eb McCoy was a survivor at heart.

The rest of the High Council was arguing over whether the spirit of Hrothbert of Bainbridge could possibly be telling the truth. As though the ghost could lie when commanded to tell the truth.

“Enough,” Eb growled, voice cutting through the clamor like a knife and bringing utter stillness to the room.


	22. Too Little Listening

Hrothbert heard the High Council’s clamor even while in his skull. He could hardly avoid hearing, after all, his prison was sitting on the table in front of Ancient Mai.

He had a difficult time acknowledging his former relationship with his skull, it had been so long since he had inhabited it as a corporeal being, although Harry’s actions had done a great deal to help ground him in the only remnant of his former body.

Unfortunately, he could speak no words that would cause the High Council to acknowledge the truth. All the words he could have spoken would only have driven them further from the path of justice.

The High Council had degenerated greatly with time. Not that they would acknowledge their distance from the path Merlin had laid out.

They had become, in fact, what Merlin had strove against. Unjust, ignoble, merciless, and greedy.

Harry had his flaws. Hrothbert had pointed them out frequently, but no one deserved the High Council’s censure less than Harry Dresden. Or more than the late Justin Morningway, who had been made Warden and groomed for a position on the High Council far too quickly.

Even more quickly than this Council was prepared to execute his nephew.

Hrothbert heard someone stand, then the current Blackstaff, a middle aged wizard named McCoy, said, “Enough.”

McCoy had said little, but listened much. Perhaps Hrothbert dared to hope.


	23. First

She was wondrous. The first woman who had ever broken through his self-absorption to make him truly _see_ her.

And he didn’t even know her name.

But he would discover it. The beauty who had claimed his heart would return. He had asked the villagers, and they said she came every few days to sell herbs and medicines. They used the term ‘fey’ in describing her, and he suspected they meant it more literally than they could ever imagine.

They also said her name was Winifred. It suited her.

Her feyness mattered not to him. If he were still thinking solely in terms of power, it would make her more attractive, in fact. But the spell she had woven about him had nothing to do with true magic, and everything to something older than even the fae. Older than the demons.

In fact, the first of the Fallen had become what he was because of it, amongst other things. Hrothbert of Bainbridge was in love.

A most surprising event. Yes, most interesting indeed. 

Winifred did not appear the next day, or the day after that. But on the third day she returned to the village to sell her herbs. Hrothbert had awaited her arrival with great eagerness.

“Greetings, maiden,” he stated, with confidence crossing the boundary to arrogance.

She looked at him from underneath hooded eyes, “Greetings, sorcerer. Your reputation precedes you.”

Despite the inauspicious beginning, within six months the fey witch and the incautious sorcerer were wed.


	24. Cost

Buying quartz wholesale was the only way Harry could afford it. It wasn’t like he could pay for the ‘good stuff’, most of the higher quality stones were completely out of his price range.

Particularly for the finding spells he cast for the police. Searches that would only yield a corpse at the end would also cause his tracking crystal to shatter. He hated those cases for more reason than one.

However, he didn’t really want higher quality stones anyway. Firstly, low quality stones worked just as well, if not better for his purposes. Secondly, his uncle had always insisted that Harry use the finest materials, no matter what Harry himself felt or whether the results might be better with low quality goods.

As Harry noted the most recent expenditure on his ledger, he prayed to no deity in particular that no one would try to ‘bring him into the twenty-first century’ again. One exploded computer scattering parts all over his office was one too many.

Besides, computers and his rent deposit increases also cost too much.


	25. Protector

“Leave him alone!” Constanza yelled across the playground.

just made Constanza madder. She might be the smallest kid in her grade, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle him.

Constanza wasn’t aware of her feet hitting the ground as she flew across the intervening space. She _was_ aware of the satisfying thump as her shoulder met Mike’s solar plexus.

It took Mike a moment to realize that she really was fighting him, but once he figured that out he gave as good as he got until the teachers arrived to pull them apart.

Even as the teachers lectured her and Mike for fighting, dragged them to the principal’s office, and threatened them with suspension should it happen again, Connie was very satisfied. She may have lost the fight, but she had ultimately won the war. Mike had lost too much face because he couldn’t best a _girl_ , and the rest of the bullies would think twice before trying anything, at least when she was around.

She’d have to reinforce the lesson occasionally, but that could wait until she’d figured out what else needed doing, especially because the teachers weren’t going to step up and enforce discipline.


	26. Cookery

“Argh!”

Hrothbert was jolted out of his research notes by a cry of pure frustration from the kitchen. Curious, he put aside his pen and crept to the entryway and saw a startling sight.

His endlessly patient wife was smashing every piece of crockery she could get her hands on and swearing like a common laborer.

It was then he noticed the scent of something burning. After a brief glance around the kitchen, he noticed the ruined shell of a pie on the cook shelf.

Knowing Winifred would be angry and embarrassed if she caught him spying on her ‘failure’ in her wifely duties, even though she was excellent at every other culinary skill, and that Hrothbert loved her for much more than cookery, he slipped away.

At the evening meal Winifred showed no sign of her previous anger. After finishing the venison roast, she paused before saying, “I have an apology to make.”

“I know it is your birthday and I tried to make you gooseberry pie. I know how much you love it, but the damn thing wouldn’t turn out. I wanted this to be a perfect birthday for you, but…”

Hrothbert couldn’t stop himself from laughing, mirth coming even stronger at her mildly affronted look, “Wife, I had forgotten it _was_ my birthday, and if you were to apologize for anything, the crockery would be a much better choice.”

She pounced on him, “You infuriating man! You saw me?”

“Heard you, then saw you,” Hrothbert confessed.

Winifred’s hazel eyes were sparkling with both desire and annoyance. Running one hand down the side of his face, she whispered, “You are going to pay for that, my husband.”

With a brief shudder of desire, Hrothbert whispered back, “I look forward to doing so, my wife.”


	27. Pretty Illusions

Wizards are no less prone to self-deception than ordinary mortals. We may be even more so, despite the potential to see our souls by the simple expedient of looking into a mirror. Most often we chose to never look into mirrors once our ability to soulgaze develops, rather than see our faults and learn to compensate for them.

Unfortunately, while the self-deception of mortals rarely has consequences beyond their immediate circle, the self-deception of a wizard can destroy many lives and even shatter worlds.

A state of affairs I was intimately familiar with as both perpetrator and tool.

I thought myself powerful; but I, with all my knowledge, could not prevent my beloved Winifred from being killed by an assassin’s stroke meant for myself.

I thought myself motivated purely by curiosity and above practicing the dark arts I investigated, until I resurrected my Winifred, bringing her back to life using the life of her killer.

I thought myself canny, far more intelligent than the High Council, until they brought me down. And doubtless they felt themselves fully justified in their sentencing of me. Even when they broke the laws of magic to do so.

The irony would have been almost amusing had it happened to anyone else.

All one can do when it happens to you, however, is try not to weep.


	28. This is a Squid Free Product

Of course, some goddamn lunatic Outsider worshiping cult decides to summon Cthulhu (okay, so it wasn’t Cthulhu, per say, but anything that looks like the obscene love child of an ape, a fertility goddess, and a squid deserves the title) on my birthday. Shit always rains down on my birthday.

I hope the Warden I knocked out survives the rampage. If she doesn’t, I’ll be blamed for her death even though I made certain that she wouldn’t die from being hit.

I wouldn’t have had to do anything to her if the High Council would get over the idea that I’m some type of goddamn super villain from Marvel or DC. As it was, I was going to have to save the universe in my underwear.

Fate is a bitch.

Oh, well. One deep fried squid thing coming up.

I hope.


	29. Action

Harry had a very simple policy about action; when you had a choice between doing something and nothing, it was always better to do something.

Of course, it could also get him into a whole world of trouble, and not just with the villain or nasty of the week. The High Council, for whatever reason, seemed to think that his careening from disaster to disaster meant he had a hand in all of them.

To Harry’s mind, that was another good reason to get involved in the messes, besides the fact that something had to be done about magical incidences in the Chicago area before they got to the point where Wardens had to be sent, and that his lack of official schooling and disinterest in college. Tweaking the High Council’s nose was always worth it.

Besides, if he didn’t get involved from the start, he’d certainly be blamed for whatever it was later. If the end result for involvement and non-involvement were the same, and his assumption that action was always better than inaction, Harry’s preference was for involvement and action from the beginning.

Any day of the week.


	30. Check

Harry was abysmal at strategy. And his tactics also left much to be desired, especially as the boy tended to think more with his heart than his head.

Bob hoped that Harry would not only learn to use his intellect before leaping headlong into any cause that walked up and greeted him, but to integrate both modes of thinking before he lost his head far too literally.

Bob knew far too much about that.

Yet it was always surprising how well Harry did at chess. Oh, not Western chess, as much about patience and game knowledge as intelligence. No, Harry excelled at xiangqi, winning more games than he lost.

“Check,” Harry said.

Bob frowned. A triple check, no less. His general was pinned by soldier, chariot, and cannon. “I shall never understand how you can excel at this variant, while being unable to competently play the European version.”

Harry shrugged, “I never had much reason to learn regular chess. Justin preferred to beat his partners without trying. But xiangqi’s a good way to meet Chinese when you’re over there. And I liked to provide a challenge.”

And while Hrothbert had been indifferent towards the game while he lived, working chess problems was a welcome distraction from other matters at times. Shaking his head, Bob said, “The potion should be ready now.”

Harry was into the lab before Bob finished his sentence. Rolling his eyes, Bob followed through the wall.


	31. False Blessing

Even when there were no supernatural messes to cover up, Connie Murphy still got all the weird cases that wandered into the precinct. And even a few from other areas that the chiefs didn’t want to deal with.

Cases like the young wife of a ‘prominent local investor and citizen’ (read, boss of a criminal syndicate) being hospitalized with nearly fatal mercury poisoning. Murphy didn’t think that the woman’s husband was poisoning her, as Mr. Leone, for all that he was engaged in innumerable illegal activities, seemed genuinely fond of his wife. 

God alone knew why. To call Pia Leone an airhead would be an insult to all other airheads.

“I’m not taking anything bad,” Pia said, in her eternally confused and surprised voice, “All I take are natural medicines. I’m trying to have a baby. I would never take anything unnatural. The ancient Chinese knew what was good for the body. Nothing I take could have had mercury.”

“Perhaps one of your medicines could have been contaminated?” Murphy hated women like Pia. Few brains, and beautiful enough that they never bothered to learn how to use what brains they had.

“Oh, no. They’d never send contaminated medicines.”

This despite all the cases of contaminated medicine from China. The naivety…was well beyond the adjective. “Have you eaten fish or shellfish recently?” Connie asked, setting aside the matter of medicine until she could get permission to test the medications.

Pia acted like Connie had asked her if she routinely ate human babies, “Fish? I would never eat any animal. I’m a strict vegan.” She went on a tirade about the cruelty of eating a fellow being, which Connie tuned out. She had no problem with vegetarians or vegans, as long as they didn’t try to force their philosophy down her throat.

So, the easiest source accidental mercury poisoning was ruled out. That meant she had to get an order to bring all the medicines Pia Leone was taking that could contain mercury.

Which, she discovered, was all of them. The woman only took ‘natural’ medications and all of them seemed to be ordered from some third world country and none of them were labeled. There must have been fifty bottles.

It took Connie hours and several increasingly annoyed calls back to the precinct before someone finally told her that she was on her own with the cataloguing because something major was going down elsewhere.

Convenient that, but when she arrived back at the bullpen, it _was_ deserted.

Almost deserted. Harry Dresden was standing awkwardly by her desk, shuffling his feet like a child in the principal’s office.

“Dresden,” she asked, “Why are you here?”

He gazed at her in his almost direct way. After a moment he said, “Paperwork. For the Kellerman case. Wanted to be certain you got it. Several of my expense reports have disappeared between the time I left them and the next time you were in the office.”

Connie felt a flash of anger. Everyone in the precinct knew that Dresden barely made ends meet, and his most consistent work was his police consultation. Once she discovered who was doing this, they would pay.

Then she realized that Dresden was looking in the box. He asked, “What case’s this?”

“Nothing for you,” she answered. “I got the Leone poisoning.”

Dresden frowned, “Pia Leone? Was she poisoned with mercury?”

Connie knew her face gave the answer away. Even so, she was about to tell Dresden that she couldn’t confirm or deny his suspicions, despite the fact that the news had been running stories from the moment Pia had been taken to the hospital. Before she could, he continued, “I think I can tell you what caused it.”

He paused for a moment before saying, “Pia Leone is well known in the local alternative medicine community, which overlaps with the occult community. She’s even been by for a consult from me,” He rolled his eyes, “She seemed like the usual wealthy dabbler, but recently she’s become desperate to get pregnant. And somehow she decided, or someone told her, that the most effective fertility medicine known to the ancient Chinese was cinnabar.”

Connie knew she had heard of the substance, but couldn’t remember what it was precisely, so she asked, “Which is?”

“A crystalized form of mercury sulfide,” Dresden replied.

“So she’s been ingesting almost pure mercury,” Connie snarled. She almost stalked off, but then turned back to ask, “Can you write up your consult with Mrs. Leone and give the names of any other of her consultants who might be willing to be interviewed, in addition to the names of individuals who might have recommended cinnabar?”

Dresden nodded, “Yeah, I’ll get it to you by Wednesday.”

As he turned to go, she said, “And I should have some answers about your missing paperwork by Wednesday.”

There was a hitch in his step, and a soft response of, “Thanks,” as he exited the station.


End file.
